Editor’s Note

Reviewed by: The Loyal West: Civil War and Reunion in Middle America by Matthew E. Stanley M. Keith Harris, Anne E. Marshall, James Marten, Kristopher Maulden, and Matthew E. Stanley Matthew E. Stanley, The Loyal West: Civil War and Reunion in Middle America (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2017) Interest in Civil War memory and post–Civil War sectional reconciliation has expanded greatly in recent years, as two 2016 historiographical essays attest.1 Matthew E. Stanley's new book, The Loyal West: Civil War and Reunion in Middle America is thus well timed to make an important contribution to our evolving understanding of the process of sectional reconciliation in the decades following the Civil War. With his focus on Kentucky's northern neighbors in the lower portions of Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio, the editorial staff of the Register of the Kentucky Historical Society believe Stanley's book will help historians better understand the role Kentucky played in the events of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, which saw a white supremacist version of Civil War memory eclipse an emancipationist version nationally. We have asked four nineteenth-century historians to consider Stanley's book from varying perspectives. M. Keith Harris teaches history at a private high school in Los Angeles, California. He is the author of Across the Bloody Chasm: The Culture of Commemoration among Civil War Veterans (2014) and is currently writing a book on D. W. Griffith's controversial 1915 silent film, The Birth of a Nation. Anne E. Marshall is an associate professor of history at Mississippi State University and the author of Creating a Confederate Kentucky: The Lost Cause and Civil War Memory in a Border State (2012). James [End Page 79] Marten is professor and chair of the history department at Marquette University. His most recent books are Sing Not War: The Lives of Union and Confederate Veterans in Gilded Age America (2011) and America's Corporal: James Tanner in War and Peace (2014). Kristopher Maulden is a visiting assistant professor of history at Columbia College in Missouri. He is completing a book manuscript on the influence of Federalist politics and federal policy in the Ohio River Valley, and he is engaged in a study of nineteenth-century Ohio newspaper editor Charles Hammond. Finally, the author of The Loyal West, Matthew E. Stanley, assistant professor of history at Albany State University, will respond to the reviews. M. Keith Harris In The Loyal West, historian Matthew E. Stanley invites his readers to consider sectionalism in Civil War–era Middle America beyond conventional North-South binaries. In so doing, Stanley recalls the words of an Indiana man, who recognized the region as existing "between two fires." The Hoosier in question described a section where conflict was both among regions and within sections: between northern and southern interests, between Yankee and Tidewater lineages, and between abolitionist and secessionist politics. The narrative of the so-called Loyal West was both anti-rebel and anti-eastern and, as Stanley suggests, proved a means of "reconciling antebellum regionalism with postwar sectionalism, balancing the revolutionary aspects of emancipation and the Union Cause with the political and cultural conservatism of the white rural Middle West" (p. 6). Identity studies, be they regional or otherwise, should be steeped in nuance. As such this book is a successful effort—not as an endeavor to "complicate" an unsophisticated Blue-Gray story but rather to acknowledge and understand the people of a particular loyal region on their own terms, as a people who identified outside of that story. Stanley suggests that observations concerning Civil War sectionalism tend to travel down familiar paths, with emphasis on the East. Most recently he notes that scholarship on postwar memory, and especially on veterans' commemorative efforts, leans heavily on sectional contentions [End Page 80] concerning the "northern" or "Unionist" emancipationist cause. My own work on Union and Confederate veterans at least partially follows suit. Guilty as charged. And so I read this book with particular interest, finding it a valuable corrective to a body of scholarship that began to emerge several years ago in response to David W. Blight's influential but flawed Race and Reunion: The Civil War in American...

Journal Article Horace Greeley and the Tribune in the Civil War. By Ralph Lee Fahrney, Associate Professor of History, Iowa State Teachers College. (Cedar Rapids: Torch Press. 1936. Pp. 229. $2.50.) Get access Horace Greeley and the Tribune in the Civil War. By Fahrney Ralph Lee, Associate Professor of History, Iowa State Teachers College. (Cedar Rapids: Torch Press. 1936. Pp. 229. $2.50.) Allan Nevins Allan Nevins Columbia University Search for other works by this author on: Oxford Academic Google Scholar The American Historical Review, Volume 43, Issue 2, January 1938, Pages 420–421, https://doi.org/10.1086/ahr/43.2.420 Published: 01 January 1938

Reviewed by: Fateful Lightning: A New History of the Civil War and Reconstruction by Allen C. Guelzo Rachel A. Shelden Fateful Lightning: A New History of the Civil War and Reconstruction. Allen C. Guelzo. New York: Oxford University Press, 2012. ISBN 978-01998-4328-2, 592 pp., paper, $19.95. For almost twenty years, Allen C. Guelzo, Henry R. Luce III Professor of the Civil War Era at Gettysburg College, has been at the forefront of Civil War–era scholarship. In particular, he has focused his analytical efforts on the life and legacy of Abraham Lincoln, publishing books covering the Lincoln-Douglas debates, the origins of the Emancipation Proclamation, and Lincoln’s presidential leadership, among others. Guelzo’s recognition of the sixteenth president’s central place in American memory helps provide a frame for Fateful Lightning, a new textbook-length overview of the Civil War period. The book begins with Lincoln’s second inaugural address, delivered only weeks before John Wilkes Booth gunned down the president. In the address, Guelzo explains, Lincoln identified three causes of the war: the politics of the Union, the sociology of the South, and the problems of territorial expansion. These causes introduce the sectional problems that led to warfare in Guelzo’s first three chapters. Ultimately, he argues, these problems produced a “fatal sequence of public events” from 1820 to 1861 that “can be visualized as a game of balances, with the Union as the balance point along the beam, and the two rays representing the interests of North and South, slave and free” (54). The meat of Guelzo’s book then covers the Civil War primarily from the perspective of northern political and military events. Here Guelzo focuses in particular on the [End Page 237] movement toward emancipation and the impact of the war on northern society. Chapters 4 and 5 take the war through 1862, covering important signposts such as Winfield Scott’s Anaconda Plan, the rise of George B. McClellan, and Ulysses S. Grant’s successes in the West. The next three chapters weave more thematic topics through the first half of the war, detailing the life of the common Civil War soldier, the rise of northern industry in supplying the Union army, and military and political command during 1863. The final wartime chapters pay lip service to events and changes in northern and southern society, ranging from conscription, bread riots, and religion to African American soldiers, women, and refugees. A final chapter, titled “A Dim Shore Ahead,” takes the reader from Sherman’s March to the 1876 election. In this section Guelzo focuses a mere thirty pages on the period of Reconstruction, recounting details of the Andrew Johnson and Grant administrations such as impeachment, the rise of carpetbaggers and scalawags, the Panic of 1873, the Civil Rights Act of 1875, and the Redeemers. Guelzo concludes the book with a short epilogue touching on army veterans, the Lost Cause, and the lasting effects of the Civil War and Reconstruction on the southern economy. Guelzo’s gift for engaging storytelling will make Fateful Lightning a success for those interested in a broad view of the Civil War period. Guelzo has a firm command of the political events of the mid-nineteenth century, and his description of military movements is both easy to read and skillfully explained. Unsurprisingly, his attention to detail in Lincoln’s life shines through in sections on Lincoln’s relationship with his cabinet, his often overblown differences with the Radical Republicans, and even his nightmares. Still, Guelzo’s work is less likely to resonate with scholars of the period. Although he has read extensively on the political and structural forces that shaped the Civil War era, any real engagement with the experiences of average Americans—from women and African Americans to northern laborers and southern yeomen—remains absent. Nor does the section entitled “further reading” in the back of the book provide a roadmap for engaging with these subjects. Most problematic is the failure to provide an introduction or conclusion that could direct the reader to his scholarly contribution to Civil War–era history. Instead, Guelzo peppers the text with a few choice historiographical debates, many of which seem out...

Reviewed by: With Malice Toward Some: Treason and Loyalty in the Civil War Era by William A. Blair Stephen E. Towne (bio) With Malice Toward Some: Treason and Loyalty in the Civil War Era. By William A. Blair. (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2014. Pp. 432. $40.00 cloth) William A. Blair’s commendable study shows how a popular [End Page 121] understanding of treason dominated Union government policies and practices toward southern rebels and perceived disloyalists in the North during the Civil War and immediate postwar years. Under the U.S. Constitution, treason is narrowly defined. Moreover, prior to the war, the crime had rarely been tried in the courts. But the unprecedented challenges of civil war prompted Unionists from all walks of life to paint dissenting speech and other acts as treason. Consequently, governing authorities assembled makeshift and inefficient mechanisms to police the country using broad, often imprecise, definitions of loyalty and treason. In short order, the U.S. Army took the lead as the enforcer of an elastic understanding of loyalty and disloyalty, as well as deciding when non-action was just as bad as a traitorous act. Although learning quickly that treason is difficult to prosecute, the army resolutely plowed ahead and arrested northern newspaper editors for publishing disloyalty or detained civilians for discouraging enlistments or encouraging desertion. Congress helped by passing laws giving authorities new tools to enforce the popular views of treason and the disloyal. Blair outlines a period when numerous arrests for perceived disloyal speech or treasonous acts occurred throughout the northern states, as both civil and military authorities took their cues from community norms of thought, speech, and behavior. After the Union prevailed and the victorious army occupied the former Confederate states, government policies to punish rebel treason yielded to leniency as northern Democrats and Republicans jockeyed either to regain power or retain primacy. Blair’s discussion of a wartime federal government that failed to stand up for civil liberties for all citizens but yielded to common sentiments of retribution and partisan bloodlust might seem to point the finger of blame at President Abraham Lincoln. Although references to Lincoln are many, he is not the central figure in the book. The army and Union people generally are the main actors who are faulted. As Blair notes, the president and his cabinet “were interested in finding the practical tools to win the war, while ensuring that they maintained a toe in the water of constitutional plausibility” (p. 4). [End Page 122] Lincoln, while characterized by Blair as a strong leader, succumbed to subordinate officials, especially military commanders, and allowed them to employ popular, not constitutional, standards to dictate how they punished both northern and southern treason. Although an insightful work, Blair’s analysis is in some ways a work of synthesis. Frequently cited are historians Mark E. Neely Jr. and Jonathan W. White, as well as political scientist Richard F. Bensel, who has published on military interference in voting during the war. Blair uses many primary sources but mostly cites those published or available on microfilm or online (e.g., the well-known Official Records series and newspapers). He could have bolstered his arguments and avoided a number of factual errors had he cited unpublished army records in the National Archives and steered clear of the corpus of historian Frank L. Klement, whose works on the “copperheads” (antiwar Democrats) in the Midwest are replete with errors. Blair’s account of their conspiracies in Indiana and neighboring states, based on Klement, unfortunately repeats them. As well, readers of the Register will want to know that archival records show the army arrested and banished Kentucky lieutenant governor Richard T. Jacob not merely for speaking against recruiting African American slaves as troops, as Blair argues, but because army spies reported that he was in communication with leaders of the Sons of Liberty, a secret organization that planned armed insurrection in the commonwealth and across the Ohio River. These shortcomings aside, Blair has produced a thoughtful work that Civil War scholars will study with profit. [End Page 123] Stephen E. Towne STEPHEN E. TOWNE is associate university archivist at Indiana University–Purdue University Indianapolis and...

Reviewed by: Rites of Retaliation: Civilization, Soldiers, and Campaigns in the American Civil War by Lorien Foote Clayton J. Butler (bio) Rites of Retaliation: Civilization, Soldiers, and Campaigns in the American Civil War. By Lorien Foote. (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2021. Pp. 312. Cloth, $95.00; paper, $22.95.) Adapted lectures often make for great books. Faced with the presence of a very real audience, the author has an added impetus to deliver a compelling story and a convincing argument. Derived from a series of Brose Lectures given at Penn State University in 2019, Lorien Foote’s new monograph certainly achieves both goals. Foote makes a strong case that during the Civil War the development of military policies of retaliation—officially sanctioned penalties imposed by one belligerent on the other for going beyond the brink of what it considered “civilized” warfare—had a marked impact on the nature of combat, the experiences of prisoners, and the outcome of the conflict itself. Foote contends that the Civil War represented a contest in which both sides saw nothing less than civilization itself at stake and that both sides used the threat of retaliation to assert the vision of civilization for which they fought. They were, in effect, setting the rules of the game. Though recent works, such as Aaron Sheehan-Dean’s Calculus of [End Page 258] Violence: How Americans Fought the Civil War (2018) and D. H. Dilbeck’s A More Civil War: How the Union Waged a Just War (2016), have investigated the Civil War in the context of international laws of war and just-war philosophy, both engaging incidents of retaliation, Foote’s argument that retaliation served as a legitimate and widely sanctioned method of directly influencing conduct in the field sets her book apart. Foote situates her study in the Department of the South, comprising the coastal areas of South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida, which became the site of intense controversy over the deployment of Black troops, mis-treatment of prisoners, and the summary execution of combatants during the war. Two starkly divergent visions of civilization and civilized society promptly collided there, visions that cut to the heart of the sectional conflict. Proceeding chronologically, Foote’s narrative benefits from the early introduction of several dynamic and articulate figures, including Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Robert Gould Shaw, Ethan Allen Hitchcock, and David Hunter. Hunter’s unhesitating organization and deployment of Black troops, almost from the outset of his tenure in command of the department, initiated a showdown between seemingly irreconcilable Union and Confederate policies. Confederates saw Hunter’s actions as tantamount to leadership of a slave rebellion, a barbaric act aimed at the destruction of southern civilization. Hunter saw the practice of enslavement, for all intents and purposes the Confederate raison d’être, as itself barbaric and the antithesis of civilized ways. Indeed, these clashing conceptions of civilization hold the key to understanding how nonslaveholding southerners and nonabolitionist northerners found the motivation to fight in the first place. Nonslaveholding Confederates fought to protect southern civilization as they understood it, which they perceived as gravely menaced by the so-called Black Republican administration. Nonabolitionist northerners fought for a civilization of free labor undergirded by the Union, even if that vision paid little to no heed to Black Americans’ rights. Foote rightly notes that once one begins to look for the language of “civilization” in the parlance of the Civil War era, it becomes ubiquitous. The debate over the Union’s use of Black troops offers Foote her best example of how military leadership turned to policies of retaliation to influence the direction of the fighting. Jefferson Davis, she writes, “was convinced he could shape Federal policies through the threat of retaliation” (43). Confederates proposed to reenslave or execute the Black soldiers they encountered in battle. It seemed to them an eminently justifiable position. The only thing that ultimately gave them pause was the prospect of retaliation. The thought that Confederate prisoners might suffer the same fate as Black soldiers forced them to reconsider their policy and generally, though [End Page 259] by no means in every case, stayed their hand. By treating Black soldiers as equals in the...

Reviewed by: Uncommonly Savage: Civil War and Remembrance in Spain and the United States by Paul D. Escott Wayne H. Bowen Uncommonly Savage: Civil War and Remembrance in Spain and the United States. Paul D. Escott. Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2014. ISBN 978-0-8130-4941-0, 256 pp., hardback, $74.95. The task Paul Escott has undertaken at first seems problematic: to craft a comparative history of civil war memory in two nations, with conflicts that did not share century, political ideology, continent, or language. The American Civil War, 1861–65, and the Spanish Civil War, 1936–39, however, prove sufficiently malleable to the author’s approach to make this book an engaging success on the theme of war and memory. After a brief introduction and a background chapter, the book is divided into four thematic chapters, examining the major subjects of “Ideology and Memory,” “The Past and Political Evolution,” “Reconciliation,” and “Economic Change and the Transformation of Cultural Landscapes.” Escott skillfully draws parallels between the conservative forces in both countries—southern pro-slavery elites, and Catholic, military, and other right-wing leaders in Spain—that resisted what they saw as dangerous innovations from central governments. In the case of the United States, southerners feared economic modernization, leading to northern financial dominance, but even [End Page 469] more the movement for abolitionism. In Spain, the –isms—secularism, socialism, communism, anarchism, and anti-clericalism—provoked the uprising that would become the Spanish Civil War in 1936. While there are some analogies between right-wing Spain and what would become the Confederacy, the respective aftermaths of these two civil wars were starkly different. In Spain, a civil war won by the Nationalists became the regime of Gen. Francisco Franco, in which former Republicans faced decades of persecution, restrictions on their opportunities, or even imprisonment. In the American South, after a brief period of Union occupation and Reconstruction, the same white men who had led the rebellion against the North resumed their political influence. Just over a decade after the final Union victories, segregation, intimidation, and economic repression had recreated the race-based social order of the pre–Civil War period. There were more similarities in the nurturing of respective memories after both conflicts, with the losers in each creating a more coherent and enduring vision of civil war. Spanish Republicans in exile spent decades crafting explanations for their defeat, influencing historians in other nations to take up the Republican cause. Even as the late Franco era of the 1960s and 1970s deemphasized the glorious Nationalist movement that had won the Civil War, on the Left the memory of these events remained vibrant, even if during the transition to democracy in the decade after Franco there was a conscious effort to put aside the war in the interest of civic peace. While less consistently, southern historians and popular writers created nostalgic accounts of the lost antebellum era, before the destruction wrought by vengeful industrial armies of the Yankees. Indeed, instead of a collective vision of these two conflicts, the regional and ideological divisions that had seen the actual civil wars were perpetuated by the generations that followed. Only in recent decades has anything close to a national consensus emerged in both Spain and the United States to explain these wars. Rather than the victory of a vision by winning or losing sides, in both countries a more balanced account is now replacing the rivalry of partisan memories. Complexity now seems more widespread than one-sided assigning of blame. While there continue to be political arguments over physical monuments—Confederate statues in the American South and Spanish streets named for Francoist leaders—these are no longer violent, nor of more than symbolic impact. Each civil war, especially those of the remarkable violence seen in both the American and Spanish conflicts, features its own peculiarities amid what are, after all, national circumstances and origins. At times, the author draws parallels that are too close, obscuring their historical uniqueness. For example, the gulf between Spanish landowners of the twentieth century and southern plantation owners of the nineteenth was quite significant, but both groups are described similarly, as rural elites. However, Escott has shown that...

Reviewed by: A History of the Ozarks. Volume 2: The Conflicted Ozarks by Brooks Blevins Jeffrey C. Stone A History of the Ozarks. Volume 2: The Conflicted Ozarks. By Brooks Blevins. (Urbana and other cities: University of Illinois Press, 2019. Pp. xiv, 297. $34.95, ISBN 978-0-252-04273-7.) As the leading authority on the Ozarks, Brooks Blevins continues to produce thoughtful research that probes the identity of this region in the upper South. This book is the second in a series of three volumes that spans the history of the Ozark uplift. In this volume, The Conflicted Ozarks, Blevins delves into the Civil War era. He contends that this region encompassed political and cultural elements of southern, western, and midwestern identities. While located on the peripheries of each region, the Ozarks were mired in conflict during the period. By the outbreak of war, the Ozarks region, still evolving out of the frontier stage, was a "cultural borderland" that was coming of age but was never truly Union or Confederate. This history created a world of deep conflict, leaving the region a "blueprint for true civil warfare and for a generation of postwar animus and violence" (p. 4). Highlighting the fact that slavery was rather miniscule in the area, Blevins contends that the Ozarks were not immune to the slavery debate because the region was adjacent to the frontier territories. Blevins argues that the brand of slavery that existed in the Ozarks was closely related to what Ira Berlin calls a society with slaves. Even though the number of slaves was relatively sparse, ranging from none in some counties to over 12 percent of the population in others, slavery touched the lives of nearly everyone in some fashion. The Ozarks were not protected from the racial tensions that existed during the Civil War period. The proslavery factions were strong in the Ozarks, but their strength did not prevent abolitionists from joining the debate; much of the argument played out among the religious leaders on both sides of the issue. Blevins claims that, although the region was an afterthought to those directing the war from Washington, D.C., and Richmond, Virginia, the Ozarks faced the same political and social schisms that played out in the East, only magnified as guerrilla warfare. Blevins asserts that, aside from a handful of notable battles like Wilson's Creek and Pea Ridge early in the war, guerrilla warfare was much more damaging to the people of the region. The majority of [End Page 722] the people in the Ozarks were civilians caught up in a terrorizing warfare from both Union and Confederate raiders. Neither side could effectively establish control, leaving in their wake nothing but devastation and heartache. Throughout his study, Blevins masterfully shows why the Ozarks were vastly conflicted during the Civil War era. While analyzing the numerous skirmishes and raids by both Union and Confederate forces, he meticulously examines many of the lives of those who caused destruction through guerrilla warfare and of the civilians who were impacted by it. At war's end, the political fight continued, creating political and economic divides that delayed any kind of meaningful recovery for many years. With a detailed and captivating narrative, Blevins strategically inserts scholarly research to underscore his points. Although the final chapter, which focuses on economic developments during Reconstruction, is methodically researched and deserves exposure, Blevins is at his best in demonstrating the conflicted Ozarks with his analysis of the onset of war, the war itself, and the political divisions that persisted. Moreover, like any good historian, he raises questions that need further exploration. Blevins rightfully asserts that the voting pattern in the 1860 election needs a deeper analysis. While he only touches on runaway slaves who joined forces with the Unionists, the book raises questions for further research into slave resistance and culture. Blevins is painstaking with his research but narrates this conflicted era with ease. Civil War historians and regional scholars alike will enjoy his second volume on the history of the Ozarks. Jeffrey C. Stone American Public University Copyright © 2020 The Southern Historical Association

Reviewed by: The Revolution of 1861: The American Civil War in the Age of Nationalist Conflict Timothy Mason Roberts (bio) The Revolution of 1861: The American Civil War in the Age of Nationalist Conflict. By Andre M. Fleche. (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2012. Pp. xiv, 204. $39.95 cloth) Andre M. Fleche shows how Americans and Europeans of the mid-nineteenth century compared the Civil War to preceding wars of liberation and revolutions in Europe, especially the revolutions of 1848. Fleche's work complements previous studies of Americans' reactions to nineteenth-century European revolutions and independence movements, particularly my Distant Revolutions: 1848 and the Challenge to American Exceptionalism (2009) and Paul Quigley's Shifting Grounds: Nationalism and the American South, 1848-1865 (2011). Different from these works, however, The Revolution of 1861 extends the "age of revolution" to encompass America's erstwhile peculiar epic conflict (p. 8). An Atlantic focus, Fleche argues, rids us of parochialism in showing how both Northerners and Southerners, in order to understand their great national crisis, compared themselves to peoples around them. Fleche argues that European struggles for self-determination offered Southerners a contemporary model with which to justify secession and international recognition, and European labor and class conflicts strengthened Southerners' opposition to abolitionism. These same conflicts, however, influenced Northerners to support emancipation, even when they were hostile to black equality. Most important, European failures to achieve liberal democracy through challenges to traditional authority prodded supporters of the Union to redefine American liberalism to account for and justify their wartime expansion of central authority, even through military conquest. The Revolution of 1861 begins with a study of the immigrant politics of St. Louis during the outbreak of the war, showing how [End Page 585] "forty-eighters," European revolutionary refugees, organized and divided over the outbreak of "the American 1848," according to a Republican newspaper editor (p. 44). German-Americans tended towards the Union and antislavery, some hoping that the Civil War could precipitate a world democratic revolution. Meanwhile, Irish-Americans split, perceiving that fighting in America for either North or South might help liberate Ireland—the revolutionaries Thomas Francis Meagher and John Mitchel, escaping banishment in Australia for 1848 conspiracies, fought against each other in the Civil War. Alternating chapters then explore how trans-Atlantic advocates of either northern national unification or southern national independence, called upon ideologies of European nationalism to explain Americans' wartime political objectives and to recruit international support. Of course, sometimes trans-Atlantic analogies did not easily fit American circumstances. Unionists struggled to show that secession jeopardized, rather than maintained, the American revolutionary origins. Instead, they recalled how the American Revolution had launched a global attack on aristocracy; the Union destruction of slavery could embolden ordinary Europeans to renew the assault in the Old World. Moreover, northern victory would ensure the American capacity as a great power to bring free-labor democracy to the world—thus justifying both exceptionalism and imperialism. Meanwhile, champions of southern secession drew inspiration and justification "from a half-century's worth of revolution in Europe" (p. 84). Liberty-seeking Greeks, Belgians, Poles, Hungarians, and Italians all furnished prototypes for Confederates' reminding British policymakers of their general sympathy for continental rebels. On the other hand, Southerners struggled to show their likeness to European peoples who were different ethnically from the empires or majority populations that besieged them. And slavery remained the great chink in Southerners' search for international solidarity. Paradoxically, as Fleche shows, the appeal of the Confederacy to European revolutionaries was contradicted by the insistence of southern ideologues that in its defense of slavery the South was the [End Page 586] global bulwark of property-preserving conservatism, immune from the embrace of dangerous notions of human equality. Given the windup of the narrative in 1865, Fleche perhaps reaches too far in asserting that resituating the Civil War in a global context allows us to see "the disturbing side of the rhetoric of nationalist self-determination" and to see how easily "liberal arguments could justify racial subordination" in the postwar imperial age (p. 9). Perhaps, alternatively, liberal arguments were simply defeated by a conservative, subjugating Atlantic counterrevolution, played out in imperial conquests in Africa...

Reviewed by: So Conceived and So Dedicated: Intellectual Life in the Civil War–Era North ed. by Lorien Foote and Kanisorn Wongsrichanalai J. Matthew Gallman (bio) So Conceived and So Dedicated: Intellectual Life in the Civil War–Era North. Edited by Lorien Foote and Kanisorn Wongsrichanalai. (New York: Fordham University Press, 2015. Pp. 307 Cloth, $105.00; paper $45.00.) This volume contains eleven essays about Civil War–era intellectuals. Any study of intellectual life invites questions about definitions. Lorien Foote offers a useful starting point. These essays are about “educated [End Page 137] people for whom ideas mattered” (2). Foote and her fellow coeditor, Kanisorn Wongsrichanalai, have assembled a superb volume in which the pieces fit together wonderfully. Joan Waugh’s short, charming, and absolutely essential foreword sets the stage. Waugh establishes the centrality of George Fredrickson’s magisterial The Inner Civil War: Northern Intellectuals and the Crisis of the Union (1965) in framing any conversation about the intellectual history of the Civil War, while discussing her own “heavily marked” copy of Fredrickson’s slim volume. Waugh reminds us that Fredrickson the brilliant scholar was also a charming fellow who had no trouble with young scholars who—like Waugh herself—“differed and departed from” the narrative set forth in The Inner Civil War. Nearly every essay in So Conceived and So Dedicated mentions Fredrickson, but none of the authors is intent on merely filling lacunae in the foundational text, and none are set on tearing it down—which, one imagines, is precisely how Fredrickson would have had it. Lorien Foote leads off with a historiographical review of the state of the field, with comments on the other ten essays placed within that larger analysis. This wonderful essay deserves attention on its own, as well as for being an introduction to what is to come. Foote considers three crucial questions that have framed the scholarship since the publication of The Inner Civil War: Did the Civil War shift intellectual thought toward modernization? Did it lead intellectuals to embrace “authoritarian modes of thought” (8)? How did the Civil War shape notions of nationalism? Foote’s essay and notes reward careful reading. The questions, methods, and voice employed in the other ten essays are diverse, but the pieces join together in multiple conversations. The authors interact with one another implicitly, and on multiple occasions they explicitly engage with other essays in the volume. The mix of senior scholars and more junior authors is excellent. Together they map out some of the ways scholars are rethinking intellectual history in the Civil War era. Kathryn Shively Meier considers the medical professionals who became involved in the United States Sanitary Commission, while—in a marvelously complementary piece—Susan-Mary Grant looks at the thoughts and experiences of those surgeons who actually worked for the military. In an interesting counter to some familiar narratives, Julie Mujic asks how professors in midwestern universities responded to the particular challenges they faced when their pupils clamored to go to war. Kanisorn Wongsrichanalai flips that tale by considering how antebellum and wartime experiences shaped the postwar activities of three prominent soldiers-turned-educators. [End Page 138] Other authors adopt comparable forms of collective biography, contemplating selected members of key groups. Christian G. Samito examines two Irish Catholics who became prominent prowar Republicans, while William Kurtz finds generally conservative impulses in the writings of a cohort of Catholic editors and archbishops. David Zimring complicates our understanding of the relationship between geography and identity by examining northerners who moved south and largely embraced the politics of their adopted home. Two essays focus on a single figure. Richard F. Miller uncovers the crusade of one New England lawyer to produce empirically sound, fundamentally nonpartisan historical writing about the war; Niki Lefebvre broadens the interpretive lens with a close reading of one artist’s representation of an African American soldier in Harper’s Weekly. Finally, Richard Newman’s intellectually challenging contribution looks at metaphorical discourse surrounding the health of the body politic to reconsider thoughts on the meaning of race and emancipation both during and after the war. These essays should produce scores of “heavily marked” copies for decades to come. Consider just two...

The Causes of the American Civil WarRecent Interpretations and New Directions (1974 Reprint) Eric Foner In 1960, as Americans prepared to observe the centennial of the Civil War, one of the foremost historians of that conflict published a brief article entitled, “American Historians and the Causes of the Civil War.”1 Most readers probably expected another survey of the changing course of civil war interpretation. Instead the author announced that as a subject of serious historical analysis, Civil War causation was “dead.” Looking back over the decade and a half since David Donald wrote, it would appear that he somewhat exaggerated the death of this field of inquiry. In the 1950’s, historians were concerned with investigating periods of consensus in America’s past. But in the 1960’s, as the issues of race and war came to the forefront of national life, earlier times of civil strife in American history attracted renewed attention. The 1960’s, for example, witnessed a renascence of the study of slavery. It is now no longer possible to view the peculiar institution as some kind of accident or aberration, existing outside the mainstream of national development. Rather, slavery was absolutely central to the American experience, intimately [End Page 41] bound up with the settlement of the western hemisphere, the American Revolution and industrial expansion. It was what defined the Old South and drew southern society along a path of development which set it increasingly apart from the rest of the nation.2 At the same time, a striking reversal of interpretations of the abolitionists took place.3 In fact, there was a paradoxical double reversal. On the one hand the abolitionists, previously castigated as fanatics and agitators, suddenly emerged as the conscience of a sinning nation—much as the Garrisons and Welds had portrayed themselves a century earlier. At the same time, a number of writers argued that not only were the friends of the slave not immune from racism, but, far from being truly “radical,” they seemed to accept the middle-class values of northern society.4 The flood of studies of slavery, abolitionism, and the race issue does not seem, however, to have brought historians much closer to a generally accepted interpretation of the coming of the Civil War than they were fifteen years ago. As the late David Potter pointed out, the irony is that disagreements of interpretation persist in the face of a greatly increased body of historical knowledge.5 This is partially because the Civil War raised so many still unresolved [End Page 42] issues. Perhaps, however, there is another reason. Historians’ methodologies and value judgments have changed considerably over the past fifteen years, but the questions historians have asked of their data have remained relatively static. Like the debate over slavery before the appearance of Stanley Elkins’ study in 1959, discussion of the causes of the Civil War continues to be locked into an antiquated interpretive framework. Historians of the Civil War era seem to be in greater need of new models of interpretation and new questions than of an additional accumulation of data. There have, however, been a number of works in the past fifteen years which have attempted to develop entirely new ways of looking at ante-bellum America and the origins of the Civil War. One of the most striking developments of these years has been the emergence of the “new political historians,” who have attempted to recast our understanding of ante-bellum political alignments. They have de-emphasized “national” issues like slavery and the tariff, and substituted ethno-cultural conflicts between Protestants and Catholics, or between pietistic and ritualistic religious groups, as the major determinants of voting behavior. These works have broadened our understanding of antebellum political culture, and demonstrated the inevitable failure of any “monistic interpretation” of political conflict. And they should force historians to abandon whatever economic determinism still persists in the writing of political history. Perhaps most important, they have demonstrated the virtues of viewing voters not as isolated individuals, but as men and women embedded in a complex network of social and cultural relationships.6 The “new political history” involves both a new methodology—the statistical analysis of quantitative...

Reviewed by: The Second American Revolution: The Civil War–Era Struggle over Cuba and the Rebirth of the American Republic by Gregory P. Downs Don H. Doyle (bio) The Second American Revolution: The Civil War–Era Struggle over Cuba and the Rebirth of the American Republic. By Gregory P. Downs. (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2019. Pp. 212. Cloth, $27.95.) In the preface to this provocative book, Gregory Downs confesses he set out to take risks, and that he has done. The result is a genuine intervention in historical debates that for ages have remained confined to a nation-bound narrative sealed off from the fascinating world stage on which Civil War–era history played out. [End Page 419] Downs invites readers to see the American Civil War as a revolutionary event whose causes and consequences were linked to Cuba and Spain in ways few have imagined. He is dissatisfied with the way historians have “whitewashed” the conflict as a brothers’ war and celebrated the Union’s survival and the emancipation of four million enslaved as a self- congratulatory narrative of national success. The problem, Downs explains, is that “assumptions about continuity shape how people see the country and how scholars analyze its past. These assumptions constrain our political history and our political imagination” (15). The book begins with a strong argument for the war as a violent revolution that, instead of preserving the Union, overthrew it. The old Constitution of the Founders, having proven inadequate to the challenge of slavery, was effectively replaced, not just amended. This marked the death of America’s First Republic and the birth of its Second Republic. No sooner does his interpretation of revolutionary change settle in, however, than Downs insists the revolution failed for lack of nerve. Instead of a sweeping transformation to set America right, Republican leaders settled for a “reluctant, managerial revolution.” The author calls it “bloody constitutionalism,” a halfway revolution that sought to limit violence, return to peace and national unity, then “whitewash” its history as an optimistic narrative of national perseverance (6). There was “no greater example of this whitewashing than the Gettysburg Address,” in which Abraham Lincoln portrayed the war as a fulfillment of the nation’s founding ideals and the means to a “new birth of freedom.” The Civil War “was defanged long before it was completed,” Downs protests (51). Chapter 2, “The Civil War the World Made,” decenters the familiar national focus on the causes of the war to locate its origins in Cuba. Downs wants to do for the Spanish Caribbean something like what Edward Rugemer did for the British Caribbean by linking turbulence in a neighboring slave regime to the heightened tensions inside the United States.1 Although events in Cuba “seem a world away from the Civil War, the road from Santiago to Fort Sumter . . . reveals the political and ideological fractures in global affairs that turned isolated rebellions into interconnected revolutions, a general American crisis that disrupted the Gulf World and the surrounding Caribbean” (59). Cuba experienced nothing so dramatic as the Great Jamaican Slave Revolt of 1831–32 or Britain’s subsequent decision to abolish slavery, which served Rugemer’s case for the Caribbean origins of the war. As a site for southern imperialist ambitions, however, we see Cuba playing a crucial role in mounting sectional tensions within the United States. [End Page 420] In chapter 3, “The World the Civil War Might Have Made,” the author returns to Spain and Cuba to illustrate the failure of the U.S. Civil War to transform the world. Spanish liberals were elated by the U.S. victory in 1865. Men like Emilio Castelar, an ardent republican (and brilliant historian), admired America as a model Spain might emulate. The chance to do so came in September 1868, when a revolutionary cabal of generals and politicians drove Queen Isabella II into exile and set about building a new liberal state. At the same time, Cubans, fed up with Spanish exploitation, seized their chance to break with Spain. Carlos Manuel de Céspedes, a wealthy sugar planter imbued with revolutionary ideals, proclaimed independence in October 1868 and issued vague promises of freedom to slaves...

Reviewed by: Union Heartland: The Midwestern Home Front During the Civil War ed. by Ginette Aley and J. L. Anderson Tim Roberts Ginette Aley and J. L. Anderson, eds., Union Heartland: The Midwestern Home Front During the Civil War. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press. 2013. 196 pp. $39.50. One challenge instructors of Civil War history face is to complicate students’ assumptions that the war pitted “The North” against “The South.” Important books have appeared emphasizing the significance of regional differences in the Civil War South.1 Likewise, scholars have sought to rekindle interest, first emphasized by Frederick Jackson Turner, in American regional history.2 But until the appearance of the book under review and a few recent monographs, little Civil War scholarship has focused on what people called “the Northwestern United States,” meaning the antislavery states west of Pennsylvania (2).3 [End Page 173] Union Heartland begins to rectify the situation by presenting seven essays that seek to identify what may have been unique about the Civil War’s impact on the most agricultural part of the Union. An important essay by R. Douglas Hurt provides detailed evidence about the extent and variety of the war’s boon to midwestern agriculture. Military demands for horses, hogs, and grains encouraged farmers (male and female) to expand land development and invest in laborsaving technology; the Civil War spurred northern industrialization by first expanding farming output. Another valuable essay is Brett Barker’s study of local Republican efforts to squelch Democratic war dissent through boycotts and acts of violence against antiwar newspapers. Barker’s point is that while official actions by the Lincoln administration to suspend northerners’ civil liberties may have been measured, as previously argued by Mark E. Neely, unofficial or vigilante censorship of the Democratic press was perhaps widespread and warrants further study.4 Three of the book’s essays show a variety of midwestern women’s wartime experiences. Ginette Aley emphasizes women’s sense of alienation over the departure and uncertain fate of husbands and fathers. She notes that while gender norms of the day generally “defined a woman’s life almost entirely” in terms of her family, women in remote areas of the North were particularly affected (126). Nicole Etcheson and J. L. Anderson then show different outcomes of midwestern women’s sudden solitary circumstances. Etcheson studies how soldiers’ wives who moved in with or near their husbands’ in-laws effectively remained subordinated to their husbands as a result. Anderson, meanwhile, emphasizes women’s new expressions of autonomy in managing farms and family because of “the vacant chair” (148). The book’s other two essays reflect how not all midwesterners were consumed by the war’s sacrifices of family or civil liberties, or even economic windfalls. Michael P. Gray describes the circus-like atmosphere of civilians’ enthrallment with Confederate officers imprisoned on Johnson’s Island near Sandusky, Ohio. Julie A. Mujic, on the other hand, studies University of Michigan students’ class essays, debates, and newspapers to explain how the (male) students rationalized their failure to join the Union military. For these students, “staying in school became the equivalent of fighting the rebels,” and their classes, they asserted, prepared them to lead the country in the anticipated murky postwar era (58). Mujic’s essay could benefit from an epilogue to trace whether any of the students she studied actually played public roles during Reconstruction, but her work shows another layer of [End Page 174] midwesterners’ reactions to war, in addition to the other “battles” elucidated elsewhere in this diverse and welcome collection. Tim Roberts Western Illinois University Macomb, Illinois notes 1. William W. Freehling, The South vs. the South: How Anti-Confederate Southerners Shaped the Course of the Civil War (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001); Daniel Crofts, Reluctant Confederates: Upper South Unionists in the Secession Crisis (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina, 2014). 2. Edward L. Ayers, Patricia Nelson Limerick, Stephen Nissenbaum, and Peter S. Onuf, All Over the Map: Rethinking American Regions (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1995). As Aley notes, however, this book omitted the Midwest as a significant American region. 3. Jennifer Weber, Copperheads: The Rise and Fall of Lincoln’s Opponents in the...

Reviewed by: Excommunicated from the Union: How the Civil War Created a Separate Catholic Americaby William B. Kurtz Mary C. Kelly Excommunicated from the Union: How the Civil War Created a Separate Catholic America. By William B. Kurtz. The North’s Civil War. (New York: Fordham University Press, 2016. Pp. [x], 236. Paper, $35.00, ISBN 978-0-8232-6886-3; cloth, $120.00, ISBN 978-0-8232-6753-8.) Nativism, reinforced by the massive influx of immigrants during the Irish famine of the 1840s, revitalized perceptions of American incompatibility with Catholic loyalty to Rome. Debates over manifest destiny, the [End Page 186]U.S.-Mexican War, abolitionism, and sectionalism exacerbated the Catholic Church’s embattled condition in the Civil War era. William B. Kurtz’s study of Catholicism at a pivotal juncture in American history effectively documents a tumultuous progression. Kurtz initially unscrambles bitter sectional tensions disrupting northern Catholic fidelities to church, region, and party before and during the Civil War. Most Catholics opposed prowar Republicans, he notes, but wartime service allowed War Democrats to enhance their prospects as “true Americans” (p. 43). Catholic colleges supported the Union army, while the reputations of New York, Massachusetts, and Pennsylvania regiments soared. Commanders Thomas F. Meagher and Michael Corcoran, alongside other soldiers, supported emancipation, temporarily affirming the compatibility between faith and patriotism. The more than six hundred nuns who bolstered the national Catholic profile more than “the actions of Catholic chaplains or soldiers” contributed much, Kurtz continues, but ethnic prerogatives continued to challenge assimilation prospects (p. 68). Bishops’ indecisiveness on emancipation neutralized the value of Catholic military service for many northerners, while debates over abolition sidelined the repeal movement for Irish Americans committed to their home-land’s independence. Catholic advocator Orestes A. Brownson’s prowar, pro-emancipation stance confronted the conservative stance of New York’s Archbishop John Hughes, who based his opposition in economic and faith concerns and not in mere “unprincipled obstructionism,” Kurtz argues (p. 109). The brutality of incensed Irish New Yorkers who lashed out against conscription in the 1863 draft riots is adroitly counterpoised against bishops’ efforts to renounce the violence and contextualize factors of “patriotism, disaffection, ethnicity, class, and racism” underpinning the clash (p. 110). The virtual erasure of Irish Catholic sacrifice in the Union army from contemporary culture is recognized, while Kurtz positions the failure to exempt clergy from the draft against Protestant hostility to Pope Pius IX’s “mostly humanitarian” appeal for an end to the war (p. 121). But Protestant antipathy to a cohort associated with such violence, and therefore seen as incompatible with America’s founding principles, eclipsed the pope’s call. Proposals for Catholic veterans to defend the Papal States against Italian nationalist forces seemed to confirm Catholic disloyalty as Thomas Nast’s cartoons kept draft riot memories alive. Kurtz concludes that while Knights of Columbus and Ancient Order of the Hibernians commemorations of Irish Civil War heroism asserted local and regional Catholic cultural empowerment, negative perspectives remained until their abatement during World War II. Several focuses merit additional scrutiny, including Father Edward Purcell and the Cincinnati-based Catholic Telegraph’s “fierce advocacy of the war and emancipation,” Horace Greeley’s anti-Catholic attitudes, curtailment of U.S.-Vatican diplomatic relations in 1867, and Catholic cohorts other than Irish or German (p. 123). Kurtz is unduly cavalier in citing Irish priority of church over radical nationalism, but deft in summarizing that “[s]upport for Ireland, the working class, and the church were not necessarily incompatible, and were in many cases simply three different but related parts of Irish Catholic Americans’ daily lives” (p. 132). His contention of Catholic aspirations to [End Page 187]“uphold law, order, and stability” also warrants further exploration, while the “separate Catholic America” of the title is somewhat disingenuous—Catholics arguably forged a distinct, rather than “separate,” religious culture in the modernizing United States (p. 91). Any book tackling such thorny topics should inevitably prompt such questions, however. Kurtz is to be commended for his masterful interrogation of the fusion of faith, national crisis, and ethnic identity at a critical moment in American history. This is a notable and welcome contribution to Catholic, Civil War...

War and medicine are two of society's more powerful forces and their impact on each other is a significant part of his tory (i). In American history the two greatest examples are the Second World War and the Civil War. However, the impact of war on medicine, on the one hand, and medicine on war, on the other, is multifaceted. The Second World War can serve as a brief example. That war brought antibiotics, led by penicillin, to public awareness as one of the several contributions of science that encouraged American society to invest in scientific re search in the postwar years. Penicillin had a dramatic impact on the care of soldiers and was partially responsible for the reduction in the number of troops who died of wounds in the European Theater of Operations, from 4 percent of casualties to about 2.5 percent by war's end. There were similar reciprocal ef fects in non-scientific innovations, the best example being the im pact on specialization. At the beginning of the Second World War the Army Medical Depart ment requested the cooperation of new spe cialty boards in selecting qualified physicians for the expanding military hospital system. The re suit was that board certified specialists received jobs in general hospitals, while non-boarded practitioners were given lower ranking operational medical jobs closer to the hostile action. Sick and wounded troops in all branches of the armed services were cared for by specialists, and doctors perceived that society valued specialists more highly than generalists. After the war, physicians pursued specialty training in unprecedented numbers and patients began to look to specialists for treatment. The va riety of social changes needed to facilitate this shift from generalist to specialist care?including expanded health insurance, more hospitals, and more specialty training slots?were all encouraged by wartime deci sions and experiences. The Civil War is in some ways more difficult to study than World War II because the medicine is less clear and familiar; the medical ideas of the mid-nineteenth century were in transition from the ancient to the modern. The Civil War, however, had a profound impact on medi cine in late nineteenth century America and in many ways facilitated the shift to recogniz ably modern medical practices (2). To begin with, medicine in the United States in i860 was exceeding diverse. The monolithic profes sion of the twentieth century can be seen in embryonic form, but it hardly dominated early industrial culture. The formal profession as recognized by the U.S. Army, however, was the ancient medical tradi tion called regular or allopathic, recognized by the M.D. degree and based in a rationalistic reductionism of experi mental science. The chief advantage of the federal recognition of their regular profes sion was that other forms of practitioners could not claim the heritage of service to the nation in its hour of great need. In retrospect, it was not so much that the physicians were obviously effective as it was that they were there and their competitors were not. The first major battle?at Bull Run in northern Virginia?was a medical as well as a military disaster. The walking wounded some ^^^^^B^^^^^^^H^fKBI^B?^BPi?l^^B^^BH?^^

Reviewed by: Fighting Means Killing: Civil War Soldiers and the Nature of Combat by Jonathan M. Steplyk Kathryn J. Shively (bio) Fighting Means Killing: Civil War Soldiers and the Nature of Combat. By Jonathan M. Steplyk. (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2018. Pp. 304. Cloth, $29.95.) Fighting Means Killing probes a question that many civilians long to ask of returning veterans: "Did you kill anybody?" (5). Moreover, it invokes that question's illicit companion: If so, did you enjoy it? As Jonathan Steplyk acknowledges, these are distinctly post–Vietnam War inquiries. Since the late 1970s, antiwar activists have often preferred to characterize soldiers as the victims or, at least, the instruments of unethical military or governmental overlords. Killing came to be understood as an avoidable, objectionable aspect of war with lasting psychological consequences for veterans. In applying these questions to the American Civil War, Steplyk reveals that, in contrast to modern civilian mores, Confederate and Federal soldiers generally "affirmed and accepted killing" as necessary to their jobs and to the success of their respective causes (7). The societies that produced them likewise legitimized killing, despite the fact that enemies had so recently been fellow Americans. The majority of the book, then, teases out the "spectrum of readiness, willingness, and enthusiasm" to kill along which soldiers on both sides felt and behaved, marking two extremes (7). On one end, some soldiers—particularly Confederates acting against United States Colored Troops and, conversely, black soldiers [End Page 316] issuing reprisals—executed surrendering soldiers. On the other end, some men—restrained by religious values or caught in moments of enraptured fraternization—flatly refused to take lives. The monograph unfolds in seven chapters, six of which form interrelated pairs. The first chapter illustrates a broad array of prewar cultural factors that may have shaped wartime attitudes toward killing, such as adherence to the Bible, experience with slaughtering animals, and the inflammation of animosity during the sectional crisis. The second and third chapters provide an overview of killing in the Civil War and the language employed to describe it, the latter of which often emphasized a businesslike acceptance of combat's most brutal mandate. Throughout these two chapters, Steplyk includes useful observations about the factors that helped soldiers to cope with killing, such as the black smoke that obscured their views or the parabolic arc of their projectiles, both of which prevented leveling aim at individual humans. Chapters 4 and 5 explore the fringe experiences of hand-to-hand combat and sharpshooting. Of particular interest is Steplyk's challenge to the historiographical mainstay that sharpshooters were widely despised. He contends that the main evidence for this assumption rests on two famous accounts by artillerists, who, uniquely exposed at their guns, had ample reason to loathe sharpshooters. Otherwise, Steplyk suggests, infantry soldiers tended to admire their exceptionally skilled comrades, while sharpshooters themselves took pride in their kills and maintained a strict code of conduct. The final two chapters also look to the margins of experience to understand who killed with the most and the least zeal. The latter chapter specifically examines how race prompted executions on both sides. These topics are well trod in the literature, and Steplyk sides with those scholars, such as Mark Neely and Mark Grimsley, who reject the Civil War as total, emphasizing its limits. There are a number of aspects to admire in this monograph. Steplyk hopes to bridge the gap between traditional and new military history, using the sources of both, including diaries, letters, memoirs, training manuals, and official records. He succeeds in presenting a military history topic that will, no doubt, have considerable appeal in academic and public spheres. Moreover, Steplyk's work is a contribution to the branch of Civil War social history that examines the soldier's internal life rather than material experiences. This is an area of study inaugurated by Gerald Linderman's Embattled Courage: The Experience of Combat in the American Civil War (1987), a work based on limited research and strongly colored by the Vietnam War, which concludes that combat undermined Civil War soldiers' self-conceptions of manliness, courage, and honor, rendering a [End Page 317] generation traumatized. Since Linderman, Earl Hess, Randall Jimerson...